


In the Shape of Something Real

by blueapplesour



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Fake Dating, Humor, Pre-Time Skip, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:08:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26243179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueapplesour/pseuds/blueapplesour
Summary: Mercedes is insecure about her lack of dating experience. Sylvain knows just the guy to help.
Relationships: Sylvain Jose Gautier/Mercedes von Martritz
Comments: 10
Kudos: 31





	1. Chapter 1

Mercedes sits on the edge of the circle of girls near the gazebo, hands busy with tiny stitches on someone’s torn uniform jacket and cheeks dusted pink. They’re too far for Sylvain to make out exactly what is being said, but whatever it is, it has her head bent, a tiny crease between her pale brows. 

The girls scatter like starlings at the sound of the chime, but Mercedes doesn’t move, still examining her sewing, a quiet hum from her lips. The song from last week’s choir practice, Sylvain realizes as he walks close. They’d been dragged to it together...well, Sylvain dragged, Mercedes calmly following with her usual beatific smile as she reminded him of the words. Sylvain didn’t have a whole lot to say to the goddess on a good day, much less one where his ass was chafed because he’d left his underwear in some underclassman’s dorm room.

The professor probably knew, damn them. That was probably how he got stuck with extra cathedral time in the first place.

“Not following your friends?” He plops down next to her, leaning close to see what she’s working on. The jacket in her hands is tiny and there’s a frosting smear on the sleeve- Annette. 

“Not following the girls?” She counters, but unlike everyone else in the school, there’s no malice there.

“There’s a girl right here,” he grins. But she doesn’t answer, only makes another stitch and frowns. “Something the matter? Did someone say something to upset you?” He’s got no compunctions about fighting a girl. 

“It’s really nothing.” She smooths the black wool of the sleeve a few more times than really necessary. “Just...girl talk.”

Sylvain’s mind immediately jumps to himself- had any of those girls looked familiar? There was that one brunette...but then again, he’d been with a lot of brunettes. “Well, like I just said, you’re a girl. What’s the big deal?”

Her pale cheeks redden, and Sylvain idly wonders how far down the blush goes. Academic curiosity, really. The only possible reason to stare at her chest and think about how easy the knot on her shawl would be to untie. 

“It’s nothing, just a little embarrassing. I’m the oldest student here, but I don’t really have any dating experience. Everyone knows it.”

“Is that so bad? Honestly, Mercie, we’ve got a shallow pool here.” Who would she even date? Dimitri, too hung up on propriety to even acknowledge he has a cock, no matter how many cuties Sylvain threw his way? Annette? That would be fun at least, to see Felix stew....And certainly not Felix. Felix, Sylvain thinks, still looking at Mercedes’ chest, would have absolutely no idea what to do with her, and would be snippy about it.

Mercedes only laughs, and the sound lets him breathe easy, like clean air. “I’ll be sure to tell the others you said that! But they tease me a bit. Nothing cruel,” she corrects quickly. “Like I said, just...embarrassing.”

“I can help with that,” Sylvain offers before he can stop his mouth, and Mercedes’ eyes go wide. “I’m not propositioning you!” He corrects. “Just let me hang out in your room a few nights. No one will believe that nothing happened, and you can make up whatever you want. Bam, you’re on exactly the same level as every other girl here.”

She nods as he counts all the ways that was probably stupid. “Okay.” There’s a pensive note there he tries to erase with a grin. “But only if you’re sure.”

“Course I’m sure.” When it came to girls, he always was at first. 

#

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be using you like this.” Mercedes looks genuinely pensive on her side of the bed, a hand twisting in her long hair. Sylvain cocks his head, mouth still full of tea cake.

”Mercie,” he says when he swallows, “I’m lying in bed with a gorgeous woman eating pastries. I swear to the goddess this is fine.” More than fine, her bed is more comfortable than his by far, homey quilts and over-stuffed pillows. Maybe the next time he brings a girl in he should ask her thoughts on decoration. 

She sighs and reaches over to brush crumbs off his lips, and he hopes she misses how he freezes. “I don’t want other people to think badly of you. Not over me.”

“That pegasus flew the barn a long time ago.” He laughs, but she doesn’t join in. “I thought you wanted to be like all the other girls, sleeping with me is the way to do it.”

She’s staring at him now with those disarming eyes that should be registered as a weapon. Have they tried that with any of the bandits? Just let Mercedes stare at them until they’re confessing the reason they turned to a life of crime and she sends them off with a hug and all looted merchandise returned.

“Would you have ever come here for real?”

“No!” His heart stuttered at the sudden devastation in her expression and he realizes just what a cad he sounds like. “Not because you’re not beautiful, Mercie.” A truth she won’t believe, as it is exactly the same flavor as his lies. “But you’re way, way too good for me. I’m just happy to do you a favor. It’s not often my shit reputation helps someone out.” He stretches. “Besides, Ingrid made me promise I’d leave our class alone, something about not wanting an ex to push me in the path of an arrow on missions.” That was almost sappy, for Ingrid. 

Her teeth worry at her bottom lip, the slight scrape giving her the look of someone just kissed. Finally she nods. “That’s an awful lot of words for saying you don’t want to kiss me, but I do really appreciate this.”

Sylvain rolls over and stops looking at her lips, instead imagining Ingrid’s screeching and a small but determined foot literally kicking his ass. Her pillow smells like soap and lavender, and he buries his face in deeper before being interrupted by a small giggle.

“Hm?”

A soft hand is suddenly in his hair, and he sighs before he can help it. 

“You look very cute.”

His laugh is smothered in her pillow. “So how do you want to do this? Want me to head out in a few, make some noise so everyone sees?” He turns with an eyebrow waggle. “Make some noise now?”

She folds her hands in her lap and gives him the same look as when he rewrote the hymn to the dawn to extol the goddess’ tits. 

“I thought you would stay here and we’d go to breakfast together.”

That’s not how I do things, he starts to say, but the earnestness in her cornflower blue eyes shuts his mouth. If it’s Mercedes, real or not, he would stay.

With the lights out, he hears rather than sees her shed her robe, and makes a noble effort to turn off his imagination. Ingrid and Dimitri would be proud. “The bed isn’t that big, you know you’re going to be touching me?”

“I’m a healer, I’ve touched you lots of times,” she says, and he isn’t sure if she’s that oblivious or actually teasing.

“You know,” he says against her shoulder as she tucks herself in, knowing this is a bad idea but not quite caring, “I could kiss you for real if you like. You know, if you’re curious. I’m told I’m pretty good at it.”

He gets another giggle in response. 

“No, you already told me Ingrid has forbidden it, and I rather like you with your head.” 

“Yeah, me too, I guess.” At the moment it seems like a fair trade, but he thinks of reason formulas instead and falls asleep with his nose buried in a waterfall of pale blonde.


	2. Chapter Two

“Are you not going to sleep?” This would be there third night together; the last, according to Mercedes, offered up with continued apologies and another plate of freshly baked sweets. 

It’s probably good she isn't his real girlfriend, Sylvain thinks, or he would have to let out his uniform pants.

Then again, she's handy at sewing too, maybe it wouldn't be a problem. 

Mercedes looks up from her book, a wrinkle between her brows. “Oh, I’m sorry. It’s just tomorrow I’m sure we’re going to be asked about the theory behind these sigils, and I really need to do well.”

“You went to the Fhirdiad school of sorcery, this should be cake for you.” He leans over, chin on her shoulder, eyeing the age-faded columns of tiny writing on the page. Historical variants of Fortify and their discoverers isn't exactly riveting stuff, but it shouldn’t leave her cross-eyed. 

“I’m very good at the practical aspects of magic,” Mercedes agrees, still frowning. “But...” She cuts herself and turns with a smile. “You can go sleep in your own room if you like. I’ll keep studying. Or if you’d rather not move, I can go to the library.”

Sylvain knows what a fake smile is, and it’s an ugly look on Mercedes. “Nah, let’s stay here. Want me to quiz you?”

She reaches over and pats his hand, and he can’t help stretching with a lazy cat's grin; he always preens under the touch of a beautiful woman. “You’re sweet, but I don’t think it will help. I’m just...slow.” Her cheeks are pink in the low-burning candle light.

“What?" He sits up straighter. "You’re super smart, Mercie. Healers have to be.”

Her little huff of frustration catches him off guard. “It’s not that, it’s...well.” She closes the book and turns to look him head on, face saint-sculpture calm but eyes troubled. “I don’t know if you remember, but I mentioned spending my childhood in a monastery, right? And House Bartels before that?”

“Of course I remember.” Her thinking herself boring, when she was just another victim of the void-damned crest system. 

She gives a little nod, and if she can see the flash of anger on his face, she doesn't say. “Well, after my brother was born, my step-father didn’t care very much for my education. There weren’t many children in the monastery, either, and of course no educational books, so I never got much practice reading. I had to take the aptitude test to enter at Fhirdiad three times because of the essays, and I’m only here because of special admission for students with healing talents. More charity, really, but I’m grateful.” Her gaze drops and slides back to the book. “But it still takes me so long to get through anything, the words all run together and it’s an awful headache.”

“Mercie...” Sylvain is good at knowing what to say to get a casual laugh, to ease tension or convince a girl that a worn-thin line is minted-gold-new sincerity. The right words to acknowledge what deserves deeper consideration aren't in his repertoire. 

But action is. 

“I’ve got an idea.” 

He ignores her quizzical hmm?, pulling her into his lap and opening the book in front of him. 

Okay, maybe this wasn’t the best idea, as his view now reveals more of her decolletage than she probably realizes, the soft pale tops of her breasts and the shadowed valley between.

“So, um, what if I read to you instead? The church stuff is all recitations, right, and you know all that, so you must be pretty good at listening and memorizing.” The offer sounds awkward on his lips, but Mercedes twists against him, so bright and hopeful and radiating a warmth that touches something deeply shadowed in him. 

And bleeding Sothis, her lips are right there... 

_Training dummies. Ingrid yelling. Fish skewers. Seteth._

Okay, that works.

He's pretty sure Mercedes has agreed while he mentally listed the least sexy things he could come up with, because the book is now open to the previous page, and she’s turned back expectantly. 

By the end of the hour, she’s memorized the pages, and he’s memorized the feel of her in his arms.

#

Time to break up. Sylvain has given variations of the speech dozens of times before. He just has to grab Mercedes and tell her what to say when anyone asks about the end stages of their whirlwind romance. She'll have the same story as fifteen other girls, no one will ask any more questions, and life will be familiar again.

He can see her across the courtyard now, in deep discussion with Ingrid and Annette, mid-morning sun illuminating the shine on her fair hair and the wide curves of her hips. 

“You were one of the people saying I should date, Annette,” he hears as he approached, and Mercedes’ low tone sounds bemused and more than a little reproachful. 

“I just thought it would be nice for you, you deserve it...”

Ingrid is more cutting. “When people suggest dating, no one means Sylvain.”

It jabs a wound so old and well-calloused he barely feels anything.

“Good afternoon, ladies,” he starts, but as soon as he’s close Mercedes slides her hand into his and clamps her slim fingers. 

Sylvain has no patience for possessive girls, but Mercedes doesn’t have a possessive bone in her body. This is protective, as much as the touch of her faith magic on a wound. 

“We were just going to the dining hall.” 

He doesn't get a say; she’s turned him around and is walking him back across the courtyard. Marching, really. 

“You heard, didn’t you.” Her lips curve in a frown, a slight flash in her eyes. “I'm so sorry they talk about you like that."

He offers a lop-sided grin, a mask so familiar it feels like his skin. "We’re about to ‘break up’, right? You don’t have to defend me. Look, we can say this is over right now. They'll be thrilled.”

She pauses and turns to face him, reaching up to cradle his cheek in her hand. Sylvain’s heart thuds, and he has possibly swallowed his tongue.

”Let’s continue for just a little while longer?” Her eyes are luminous and earnest, and he finds himself nodding without even processing the words. “Then we’ll say we realized we’re just better as friends, and everyone will see you can treat a girl with respect.” 

She smells like incense and sugar and just a hint of the clean-water scent of her magic, and it takes him far too long to realize she’s waiting for some kind of answer. 

_No_ , is the better answer. There are girls waiting to console his broken heart. Blonde ones even. And he won’t ever have to think about Seteth in bed again. 

Instead, some idiot named Sylvain replies “Uh, yeah. Okay. Sure.”


End file.
